


The Morning After (Version II)

by orphan_account



Category: Motorsport RPF, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:46:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anna666](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna666/gifts).



> Inspired by a Tony Azevedo's quote. "Now take an athlete who trains from 6 A.M until 5 P.M every day. When the hell are you supposed to meet someone? Now _the pressure is done_ , you're meeting (again) like-minded people ... and boom."

It's been ages since he decided to go to those post-race celebrations, due to the team situation. Now, with the podium, he found real reasons to relax and let loose a bit, not completely losing the focus for the next year.

"Ten years", he silently thinks with himself, while sipping something relatively strong at the bar. If some drivers related about the eternity they were lasting in the category, by osmosis, he slightly starts to feel the same way. And oh Lord, how it's lasting.

The white chairs are beyond comfortable, but Seb needs to stand up for a bit, considering he was sitted the past hours. Looking from the balcony, the middle-east lights flickers some different perception inside him.

A fan draws near, greeting Sebastian. Then, compliments him over the 3rd place. He happily accepts her asking for a picture. They pose and she goes away, leaving him along with his privacity.

Sebastian sees him from a reasonable distance, without being perceived. Wearing a white t-shirt, Jenson doesn't need much to let the women - and some men - jaw dropped with so many attributes, including him. Excluding him. Sexuality is overrated, ain't it? But, how it proporcionates a dilemma on the German's mind....

He still is in doubt about get closer to the DJ and perhaps, perhaps if another dosage goes straight to his stomach, dance a little bit. The waiter comes closer, the hesitation ends, he will have another, and he swears last, shot.

Walking to blend with the public, Sebby watches a peculiar scene. There he is, talking and screaming at the same damn time on the mic, then going for the bongos, making the younger questions which kind of substance he drank to get that smashed. Enjoyable, too. After finishing the "boozed pocket show", he goes down the stairs, with his hands in the air.

A random friend playfully slaps the brit's neck, sinalizing something like "hey big head, epic speech". Hella entertained, Sebastian laughs like it's no tomorrow after process what he just saw. Reddening while his own giggling increases, the now-retired driver localizes the fountain of his interest.

"Did you enjoy "The Happiest Man In The World" show?"

"Yes, I enjoyed it". He easily smiles in a darker corner, holding his cup in hopes it takes off the focus from the rosy cheeks. "How long have you been drinking?"

"Long enough to this".

He quickly presses his lips into Seb's ones, causing a even faster reaction.

"Jense, someone can see us".

"Ah", he does the characteristic sound after a sentence, followed by a smirk. "Come with me to a secret spot, then".

Whispering at his ear, not before stumbling at Jenson's shoulder, he clumsily coordinates.

"Forty...four-two".

Proving his trust, he gives the keycard as well. Doing a eye movement that only they know, it's clear to Jenson he meant a discret "go ahead, like we always do".

Leaving the place, Jenson calculates if the building could actually reach four thousand rooms. Discarding the remote possibility, there is a second one looking for answers. 442? 42? Fuck it, he ain't coming back to properly ask.

It takes fifteen good minutes, so Sebastian departs from the foreign curiosity too, supposing he gave the right direction to his dormitory.

(...)

He always gets this impression at the hotels, this "somebody is watching me" sensation. Relatively right, the security is doing its automatic job, nothing Sebastian should worry much about.

Imaging how he'd find Jenson, if clothed or nude, with a special thing to both try together, the country tradition runs chills over his spine. It's intolerant, almost terrifying. Two opposites conflictuating, at least he feels serenity remembering of a single truth: he's rich forever which implies in having protection and coverage.

The elevator dings, warning about the floor corresponding to his room. He lands, the expensive corridors never looked so long. Yet, his patient motion wanders over the doors, to find the correspondent number.

442\. Two short knocks. Unlocking it, his convidative gaze says it all.

"Hey, handsome".

Nothing is better than a greeting with a heatened kiss behind closed doors. As the make out intensifies, Seb asks for a time to get rid of the sweaty clothes.

Going to the bathroom, he slowly does it.

Unbuttoning his shirt, unzipping the jeans, favorite boxer shorts on, he's lighter. Walking semi-dressed along with high expectations, by the snorting, Jenson is not playing.

The little fucker is already snoozing, while he is miles from counting sheeps. How dare him?

(...)

It's four in the morning. Jenson strangely wakes up, still dizzy. Nevertheless, he takes a chance to walk straight to the bathroom. Splashing some water on the face, he finds relief as the drops fall on the sink. Grabbing the towel, he brushes against his cheeks and forehead, throwing it somewhere.

Reflecting about his absurds, a smile warms up the perfect expression. For Jenson's surprise, in the way back to bed for a couple extra hours, Sebastian is lied down, wide awake. The lampshade light is on, creating shady points on his athletic musculature. Shamelessly caressing himself under the sheets, Seb pulls down to reveal he's undressed.

Catched by the unexpected, Jense sits by his side, unable to interrupt the private demonstration.

Licking his own palm, then pumping himself in alternative velocities, the horny demeanor pleadges something else.

"Fuck me back to sleep."

Whimpering with desire, the Englishman's body shivers. Moving to touch Sebastian's chin, their inebriate smells call each other. Some sirens resonates from afar, the air conditioned maintains the cool ambience. By now, they can only seek toxicity, tongues calmly exploring.

Kissing his way down, Jenson pants in antecipation. He gets laid easily, he is at the top of the world, aging like fine wine. An enigma, Sebastian's personality kicks him out of the box, throws his conscience off the track. Makes his soul wants to _beg_.

Sucking on his nipples, sweet moans abandon Seb's vocal chords. No surprise, Jense's mouth has been synonym of wickedness, he no longer can't pretend it doesn't do nothing to him. His lips trails lower places, the German punches the mattress, responsively throwing his head backwards. Still holding the younger's waist, the british makes one of his hands go upwards, finding Seb's mouth, sticking his middle finger inside. Once he understands the older's intentions, he salivates after receiving also the index one.

When Jenson decides it's just enough, he postionates Sebi's feet on his back. Pushing one of his digits inside to gather the access, the tightness becomes a challenge. Languishing, Sebastian agonizes to receives it, toes curling as the stimulation continues. The second finger joins in, decided to scissor him open. Drooling on Sebastian's hole, the task turns into painless, as Jenson watches Seb's explicit grins.

Crawling on the bed, Jenson grabs a condom on the chest of drawers. It's just a matter of moments to listen to a wanton innuendo.

"No, I... I want to feel you".

Tossing aside, Jenson leans down for a long kiss. Purple head leaking, he's pressing the lenght against Sebby's empty crack. Underneath him, he shuts the eyes, asking for more. In a shift movement, Jenson sinks in uncut, afraid he went too fast. Grasping the narrow hips, Seb's pervious heat swallows him. Reacquainted with the familiar sensibility, it's more than instinct taking over, when he starts to merciless bang Sebastian.

The man below beautifully cries, curses and craves, all almost simultaneously. Supplicating, tears already blurrs his optic.

"Let me ride you, you're too much".

Provoking, Jenson sits on bed, back against the headboard. Inviting him, he taps his lap to see Seb living by his words. Standing up, then sitting on Jense's thighs, he hotly sinks down. A loud sigh escapes as Sebastian slowly moves up, then descends again. He countained himself for too long, in everything. This night he forgets resistance, as he uncontrolably bounces for Jenson's delirium.

A wave of unexplainable delight radiates from his groin, so intensely he starts to cry on his throat. Come splatters on the older's torso, in generous quantity. Jenson gently pulls Sebastian's hair, feeling the younger orgasming even more. The scene is sufficent to trigger his own climax, balls untightening inside Seb's spread out hole.

They gaze over the last happenings. The first rays of sunshine appears, trespassing the curtains. Yawning, the sex session justifies itself.

"Sleep tight". Jenson gives a butterfly kiss. "I'll throw your card beneath the door".

"I guess _'tight'_ it's just not the word, Jense...", Sebastian breathes out.

Jenson can't help but agree, while laughing. He goes back to sleep, anesthesied by alcohol and lust.


End file.
